Category Archives: Self-Hate
Sex is personal
My “sex life” is a paradox. I think that’s the right word.
I also Googled ” anomaly” and “dysfunction”.
It’s one or another.
Either they don’t care about me and fuck me.
Or they love me and then stop fucking me.
What the actual fuck?!?!?
I want the loving AND the fucking.
At the same time.
With the same person.
I don’t want to forfeit an amazing sex life for security and platonic companionship.
He doesn’t initiate any sexual exchange.
Yet he kisses me all the time.
He freezes up when I touch him provocatively.
And tells me he loves me again and again.
I struggled and suffered for years with assholes treating me like shit and having incredible sex with them.
I’ve spent years in hell wishing, crying, praying, self-loathing, repressing desire for the man I love.
To reconcile that I must be extremely desperate.
Pathetic.
Lonely.
Frustrated.
Scared and sad.
How many truly enjoyable sexual years do I have left?
Why won’t the man who loves me make love to me?
Why doesn’t he want to?
I hate myself.
I must be repulsive.
Doesn’t matter that he says it’s not me.
It is me that he’s not fucking….
And that’s personal.
Lies He Told Me
I’ll never be able to fully separate all the lies from truth. There were so many ways he belittled me while making himself appear to be without fault.
Looking back, I understand now, at least in part, why he was so cruel. He must have been mistreated terribly when he was young by those who should have loved him. He was also mean in spirit. That combination made being his child a living nightmare.
There’s one lie in particular that still makes me cry because of the magnitude of his brutality and the deeply personal aspect of it. If what he said were true, there was absolutely nothing in my power to change it.
I remember we were outside on that sunny day. Not sure if we were washing his yellow pickup truck, but I remember standing next to it when he looked down at me. I must have been 8 or 9 years old. I had always loved my daddy’s blue eyes. I wonder if he knew that. If so, it would make his next statement even more vile.
Without a hint of humor, he told me people with blue eyes were smarter than people with brown eyes. Then he watched me to see my reaction as I processed this information. Over the years, he would repeat this statement several times. I suppose it was his way of exerting dominance and superiority while making sure I viewed myself as inferior.
Parents hold all the power over their children. What they say, we believe to be true. And this ‘fact’ has had a devastating effect on me. Despite my knowing eye color doesn’t determine intelligence, it’s impossible to erase his words and intention. I can still hear his voice and see the smirk on his face.
We all say things we regret. We all can be unintentionally cruel. When that happens, our apologies help heal the wounds, but do not erase the scars. When there’s never an apology made because the words were deliberate, the hurt takes hold deep inside.
He told me so many lies. I didn’t deserve that. No one does. I have beautiful brown eyes. Although I struggle, I’m not stupid.
And I still love blue eyes the most…
Dermatillomania
Excoriation disorder
Skin-picking disorder
Neurotic excoriation
Acne excoriee
Pathologic skin picking (PSP)
Compulsive skin picking (CSP)
Psychogenic excoriation
There are many different names for such a shame-filling habitual behavior.
Sharing a picture of myself is hard and scary and as real as it gets. This is what a part of my body looks like. It’s one of the most damaged areas, but there are similar markings on my shoulders, lower back, arms, and face. It’s shocking for me to see it.
For as long as I can remember, the need to pick has been part of who I am. It began when I was a kid, not sure exactly when but probably around puberty. That’s when the abuse at home got really bad. I’ve been picking my skin ever since. The severity comes and goes, but the action never ceases.
It’s much worse when I’m stressed. I’ve been very stressed for a few years now and it shows. The scars and wounds are horrible. I’ve attacked so much of my body that I can’t hide it all with clothes anymore.
I notice it the most during summer. Everyone’s wearing light clothes and showing lots of skin. I’m jealous. More than anything, I’m in awe that most others don’t suffer like I do.
I wish I could stop. I can force myself to slow down, but even that’s been futile for a long time now.
It’s so disgusting. As if I needed more reasons to hate the way I look. I can’t even get a haircut because I’ve trashed my scalp so badly. WTF?!
Alright, I’m in a self-loathing mood right now and that’s not helpful. Stress leads to picking. Time to shift gears and do my best to focus on something better.
Can you relate? If you want, share your story below. Your struggles. Your success. Encouragement. Advice. We help each other the most when we allow ourselves to connect.
